


Sex For You

by Sakurthigh



Category: BUCK-TICK
Genre: F/M, J-ROCK Band, Masturbation, Other, Visual Kei
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-26
Updated: 2020-03-26
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:53:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23325826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sakurthigh/pseuds/Sakurthigh
Summary: Aroused from contact with the audience during a concert, Sakurai has to take matters into his own hands.
Kudos: 7





	Sex For You

**Author's Note:**

> This one-shot fic was originally written and published by myself to LiveJournal on October 23, 2011, and has been imported to Archive of Our Own to preserve it.

The final notes of their last song were just being struck on stage- Imai was working at keeping the fans' attention as Sakurai strode through the hall that connected to the back stage area. Tonight he let himself get a little drunker than usual during the show- a decoy car was scheduled to take a stand-in off to a hotel, as he waited an hour or two for the crowds to clear and then he'd slip into the tour bus dressed as one of the roadies. Their fans could be brutal so they left nothing up to chance, but it still left him hanging around with nothing to do this evening- at least for a bit.

"Fuck, I'm tired," he thought, finally allowing himself to stagger, now that he was in his dressing room. Ice crunched in the half melted bucket on the coffee table as he grabbed a bottle of spring water that was waiting for him, and he cracked the seal, not bothering with a glass. The cold was great after being out there, but he drank it a little too fast and felt his head spear with a brain-frost headache. "Aggh, darnit!" He flopped onto the couch, allowing himself to slump down, and rubbed his temple with his free hand. The room spun.

He'd be hung over in the morning- he knew that when he was barely one third of the way into their set. The vibe of the crowd was great tonight, and after "Sex for You" he was buzzing with arousal, so it seemed a good idea at the time to give the fans a little of what they were begging for, and he'd kneeled at the edge of the stage, letting them touch him. Big mistake. One of the fans grabbed his crotch, and tried to give him a blow job right then and there, in the middle of the concert. 

Seeing him worked up on the stage is one thing- that's what they payed to see- but not to see too much. Even though there wasn't a film crew here this time, word would travel fast. He had to keep them wanting more, not get a reputation for actually giving it to them. He reluctantly peeled her hands off, and backed away before body guards tried to step in. They were under orders to allow fans to do quite a bit, but he knew that they would act if she tried it again after he gently rejected her offer. He'd had a hard-on ever since, and drank more than usual to try to tone down the edge of the desire that he felt threatening to explode from his fingertips, and threw as much of it as he could into his performance, his only vent. Someone had to have noticed.

His hips thrust a little on their own, and his cock was crushed uncomfortably in the tight underwear he had on. Tight underwear makes nature a little less evident on stage… they love to see the bumping and grinding, but glaringly sporting wood doesn't go over well with all of them… he learned that early on in his career. How can women want sex, but freak out at the sight of a dick? He sighed- frustrated, and at the edge of a bad mood from it. His balls ached. "Shit."

Leather rubbed against leather- he was wearing snug black pants, and they creaked as he slid down lower into the leather couch and loosened his button and fly. He took another swig of water, and put down the bottle. A nap… that's what I need, he thought. The room swayed when he closed his eyes, and he opened them, cursing. This is no good- I'll never sleep like this. He looked to the dressing room door- he was alone for the next hour and a half at least, and no one would come near to give away his location. He was alone.

"Mhh…" Groaning, he shifted his bruised, uncomfortable testicles. A shot of need burned into his chest and arms, and he gasped; his eyes flew wide. Oh God, I need to fuck. Another thrust surged his hips forward, rocking them on the couch. His heart pounded, and his breath, strong with the alcohol of this evening shortened into a rapid pant. The smell of sweat mixed with the wine he'd been splashing around on stage permeated his damp clothing… he couldn't even tell if the water that he'd dumped over his head still saturated his shirt, or if that had dried and it was all his own perspiration… but he was too drunk to care if it damaged the sofa he was on.

Bet it's seen a lot worse. An image of a young host-kei haired rocker pinned to the couch beneath a couple of fangirls flashed into his mind unbid- one girl riding him, the other with her form fitting mini skirt hiked up to her hips, a platform booted foot propped on the back of the sofa as the young rocker fucked her with the fingers of one hand and his tongue. He moaned. Why do they always come to our shows dressed like a secretary on ladies' night out?

He thought of earlier, to the modest floral sleeveless blouse and calf length skirt of the woman that he had to push off. She'll go home, and if she was sober enough to remember what she tried to do by tomorrow, she'll most likely hide from her companions for a few days, then try to pretend nothing happened. As for himself... getting a little post-show action from fans usually wasn't too smart of a move- he'd made a lot of mistakes in their first ten years, and time was a great teacher. He knew better. Time, however, didn't take care of blue balls.

"Dammit…" His fist thudded down onto one of the couch's pillows. His right hand slipped to his sweat-damp underwear, and gave a tentative stroke along the rigid line straining against them, and took a quick sharp breath in through his clenched teeth. Fuck it- there's no other option. He peeled the damp knit back down to the base of his cock, and stared at it for a minute. It sprung up immediately and twitched, the head so inflamed it was shiny and a shiny wet thread of pre-cum connected to his belly where it had been crushed moments before. Guess it's not just sweat.

He brushed his hand over it, breaking the wet thread in the process, and the palm of his hand glided slickly in its lubrication. Closing his hand around the head and making little circular motions was enough to make him bare his clenched teeth in a snarl of arousal. Oh shit, I'm not gonna last long, he thought. He stroked beneath its head with his thumb. Moisture welled and dripped over his knuckles. 

Another stroke, and his left hand slipped automatically to his chest, to his nipple through the fabric of his shirt. A bolt of pleasure shot to his groin as the fabric grated against the tight peak. Perspiration beaded on his upper lip, and he darted his tongue out, tasting it- salty and grimy with makeup; a familiar odd combination. His hand continued to caress the head of his cock, and suddenly there was a sound at the door, and his heart slammed into his throat. He froze, dick in hand, in a panic- who the hell was knocking at the door? If it's Imai, he'll come in after that without waiting for me to call out… it wouldn't be the first time he's caught me jerking off, but he won't let me live it down any time soon if he does. Shit! Dammit, I wish I wasn't so drunk... I'd be able to react quicker instead of just sitting here frozen like a deer in the middle of a fucking highway.

His heart lurched, and started to pound. No sound, and the door didn't open. Did I imagine it? He tried to breathe, but couldn't. An odd sliding, scraping sound from out in the hall, and a clatter- two of the stage hands were trying to carry a metal ladder around the corner, and must have jostled my dressing room's door by accident. Relief swept over him like an icy wave, then he started to sweat profusely from the alcohol, or at least he tried to convince himself it was just that. His hand, locked up with tension, spasmed and accidentally crushed his nipple. The intense sensation made him thrust into his other hand, which he'd tightened into a fist without realizing, from the fear of being caught. He saw a blinding flash of white light, and his eyes rolled back. Oh shit, so close, so close…

He wasn't sure if his hand was stroking, or if he was fucking his hand at that point, he'd lost control. "Hah, hah… ahh… ahh… hah!" He couldn't keep his panting quiet. Oh god, this is intense! Fuck, fuck, fuck… "ahh aahhh naahhh…" faster stroking oh fuck I'm going to come, stroking oh fuck, ohhh…

His back arched, his hips thrust up hard one last time, and he was coming. His mind was slammed with the freight train of its force... he felt his cum spatter his chest and right arm, and then… and then... his breath hissed through his clenched teeth and he grunted as his body wracked with a series of uncontrollable spasms.

As the tension left his body and he slumped down into the couch, rivulets of sweat streamed from his temples, tickling his jaw and neck. His head was still swimming from climax, and he stared at his own ejaculate as it started to separate on his forearm and drip, landing on the sofa cushion. Shit. He looked around, his daze clearing enough to spot the towel he had earlier, and wiped it up. Must not forget to put this in the bottom of the laundry bag, he thought, cringing and tossing it across the room to the floor over by the vanity mirrors. Gingerly he put himself back in his underwear, and it stung. "nngh… ouch!"- the last thing he hissed through his teeth before drifting into an inky dark sleep, passing out from exhaustion and alcohol.

. . . . . . . . . . . .

He didn't know how much time had passed, when he felt a hand shaking his shoulder. "Come on, man, it's time to get back to the bus," a voice said, but he wasn't sure whose. Tired. Need to sleep. He felt his hair being pulled into a ponytail, and get tucked into a hat, and a crew t-shirt get pulled over his head, then they were off through the corridors, and into the cold night air.

"Mnnh… my… towel… I forgot my towel…" he mumbled, and a voice, growing more familiar until he recognized who was helping him walk- Toll- laughed and said, "they'll take care of it. Never mind. Back on the bus, come on… here we go… that's it..."


End file.
